Severing the Tangled Wires
by Lady Aoi
Summary: Parts 2 of 3 complete~Slightly AU~ Hanagata meditates on the reasons behind his amazing vitality knowing full well that no one will hear (it's basically a monologue). So rated for dark subject matter and shounen-ai.
1. Default Chapter

Severing the Tangled Wires  
A Saber Marionette Fan Fic  
by  
Lady Aoi  
  
Summary: Hanagata explains the reason behind his amazing vitality, knowing full well that nobody will hear. (It's basically a monologue)  
Rating: PG-13 for dark themes, child abuse, shounen-ai.  
Spoiler Warnings: Pretty far into the J series.  
Disclaimer: Hanagata isn't mine. And not in that sense, either.  
Lady Aoi's Notes: This fic is a bit of a tangent off a longer series I'm writing. theCarlinist gave me the idea during an AIM session a few months ago. Basically, he misunderstood something about the longer series and that misunderstanding generated a new plot bunny.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Do you remember the first day we met, Otaru-kun? Heh. Probably not. Unlike some....well, people, for lack of a better word, your memory is finite. Unlike some people, your memories are not stored as a series of indelible ones and zeros deep inside a tangle of wires and circuits. What is it like to forget, Otaru-kun? For your memories to have soft, round edges like old photographs. Is there a romance to forgetting? I cannot say. This is something I am not allowed to do.  
  
Be thankful for your ability to forget, my love. Be thankful, too, for the things you never knew in the first place, and the things people kept from you in order to keep you a happy and safe child. I may have been a child, technically speaking, but I have never been safe, or happy. Except when you were near. And even then, according to the words of some, happiness for a... person like me is impossible. At the very least, it is nothing more than an intriguing debate held over after dinner drinks, a game for philosophers and students.  
  
Be thankful, Otaru-kun, that I play such games with you. And that I debate the paradox of my emotions with no one but myself. Be thankful, if for nothing else, that I have spared your feelings. That I have lied to you.  
  
That I am only thinking this somewhere deep inside my...mind as I watch you play with your beloved marionettes. If you only knew how thin the line between your dolls and your best friend truly was...  
  
****  
  
Do you remember the day we first met, Otaru-kun? I do not think so. I am told people can always remember the moment of bald terror which introduced them to an enemy, the droll house party where they met an annoying acquaintance, or the blood-pounding sweetness of a lover's first kiss... but a best friend? No. Best friends, it seems, are like one's body. You cannot remember when your soul was first melded to it. To you, it was simply always there, a fact and necessity of life.  
  
As flattering as the notion is, however, I was not always there for you. We met for the first time when you were just six years old. You were a sad-eyed orphan gazing wistfully up at Lorelei's portrait in the Japoness History Museum. Even now, if I close my eyes, I can see the intensity that knotted your little brow as you tried in vain to fathom the logic behind this strange being, this memento mori of a human female. And I, standing five feet, two inches to your left and clutching my father's massive hand, also remember finding the intensity of your gaze just as fascinating and beautiful as you likely found Lorelei's smile.   
  
For it was nothing like the cold, curious gazes of the white robed men who worked in the laboratory under this same museum. I should know. I saw them every morning for five years. And they always looked at me in the same way; with that strange combination of fascination, revulsion and pity typically reserved for visits to an operating room or a freak show. And believe me, my room beneath this museum was a little of both. The way you looked at that painting, though, bore no trace of this terrible gaze. It almost looked, from my vantage, as if you were praying to an angel. And in that moment I knew that someday I wanted you to look at me with the same devotion.  
  
But I am getting ahead of myself. That is what you would say, at least, were I telling you my story and not sitting on this blanket guarding Cherry's picnic basket. Hm... I wonder if she would notice a few missing pickles? Given my bad luck, she probably would. So, instead of pausing to eat, I will go on with my story.  
  
If you want to know what I was doing in an underground laboratory (and one, from the description you have given me, you probably walked through on that fatal day you discovered Lime), you would simply have to ask. The answer is deceptively simple.   
  
Once upon a time, as the old Earth stories begin, there was a powerful, wealthy man named Hanagata Kamatarou who was nothing less than a giant, mentally and physically. And this giant had a young son, a beautiful little blonde prince who would someday inherit the giant's kingdom, despite his relatively smaller and frailer body. But unbeknownst to the giant, the child's weak form was not a mere quirk of genetic engineering. One day, the little prince got very sick for a very long time. The doctors could not diagnose his illness with any certainty, and his daily declining health lead them to believe the boy would not live to see the year's end. But as in many fairy tales, a wonderful miracle happened. Towards the third week of his illness, the boy began to show signs of improvement. And by the fourth, he was making a full recovery straight out of a romance novel. But it was then the angel of light that had bestowed this miracle revealed its true nature. That same week, the boy sickened and eventually relapsed into a coma. He never regained consciousness, not even when the giant kneeled beside him clinging to his small hand as if his size itself could keep death at bay. But, to the giant's horror and sadness, all his might and wealth proved insufficient protection against his son's mortality. The boy died three days later and with him the giant's hopes for his mighty empire.  
  
Faced with his line's end and blinded by silly ancient-Earth notions of blood, inheritance and family that seem to have buried themselves into the minds of this planet's men, the giant began to lose all hope. And so he despaired until the birth of Shogun Ieyasu Tokugawa's eleventh pure clone. Because, on that day, the heavens opened a second time and another miracle presented itself.  
  
The Shogun, unlike many other Terra Two leaders, regarded his pure clone as an dignified person, not a puppet to be controlled by the hands of previous generations and their mistakes. Instead, he wanted his pure clone to make its own mistakes and become an individual. And yet, he could not forget this pure clone's importance to his own line. Thus, turning it out into the world alone and unprotected was nothing short of dynastic suicide. And what boy could grown into a normal, happy man watched constantly by the imperial sabers? No, this idea was just as impractical.  
  
It came down to this. The shogun needed a guard for his son who would serve with unquestioning (indeed unquestionable) loyalty and obedience. And one who would not make any mistakes when it came to raising this precious boy. Now, as we all know, humans are greedy, dangerous and, more importantly, fallible creatures. Thus, no man alive could be trusted to protect the boy, one way or the other. As for a common marionette protecting him, such a thing would have looked entirely out of place. For though a marionette would never disobey its creator, it would be too visible to guarantee the prince's anonymity. Further, its lack of an otome kairo and, well, general complex thought processes made it an impractical parent, to say the least.  
  
The solution to the problem, then, was deceptively simple: combine the best of both worlds. Create a loyal marionette who would not stand out in a crowd and would be sufficiently intelligent to keep the little clone from most, if not all, conceivable harm. I say deceptively simple because creating such a marionette would by no means be an uncomplicated project. Or an inexpensive one.   
  
And so, knowing Hanagata Kamatarou's great wealth and power, the Shogun visited the giant. And knowing full-well the effects the giant's loss would have on the future of the Hanagata Trust, the Shogun offered the giant the following deal. If Hanagata Kamatarou would fund the creation of this special marionette, he would be allowed to keep the marionette when the clone had matured enough to protect itself. The giant could then program the machine however he wished and thus indefinitely insure his corporation's future. For what better CEO can a corporation have than a machine programmed to act and think like a human, but able to escape death by virtue of that same programming?  
  
In other words, it was the Devil's bargain.  
  
And the giant could not refuse such an offer.  
  
Do you understand me, Otaru-kun? I am, technically speaking, no different from the marionettes you play with every day. If you were to cut me open right now, you would see this clearly. I have the same titanium skeleton, and electricity pulses through my wiry veins. But if you were to crack my chest open, you would see the fullness of the terrible truth. The reason most men can accept your marionettes as human women whereas I am little more than...  
  
Otaru-kun, there is no otome kairo where my heart should be. Instead, there is an artificial intelligence circuit, about the size of your fist and the color of the sea. It is shaped like a wedge and is stamped with Kamatarou's logo: a symbol that should be my last name. Except, technically I have no name. My serial number is SMJ 0000X, and Hanagata Mitsurugi died of a fatal illness almost twelve years ago. I was merely fashioned in his image -- or at least the image of what he may have grown into -- to appease a father's overbearing grief and his overweening vanity.   
  
But again, I am getting ahead of myself.  
  
Kamatarou used his money to renovate some decrepit storage space beneath the history museum. Three months later, a trio of Japoness' best and brightest technicians began building Terra Two's first male marionette. Kamatarou insisted on taking part, of course. And since he was the project's only source of funding, no one dared question any of his actions. So, when he presented the team with a strange series of design specs which called for the marionette to be pale, delicate and blonde, the technicians worked 'round the clock to make this so. Within weeks, the machine perfectly resembled Kamatarou's dead son in every conceivable way. The program to animate this simulacrum, however... ah. Yes. That was another story, entirely.   
  
My AI circuit was their biggest challenge. In order to successfully blend into Japoness society, my behavior and inflections had to successfully mimic those of humans. No one knew exactly how to create an otome kairo, and would never have wasted such technology on a male marionette in the first place. The circuit they put into me, then, was nothing more than a more complicated model of the ones found in Baiko and Tamasaburo. More complicated in that simply contained programs that allowed me to have more facial expressions, a larger vocabulary, and more knowledge about proper child-rearing than the imperial guard. But I was not supposed to have any feelings. AI chips, remember, can only deceive. They cannot replicate the very core of humanity like those damned otome kairo.   
  
At least, that was the theory.  
  
My genesis was not an easy feat. The AI circuit, being so large and containing so much data, was difficult to maintain, even harder to predict. I remember the looks of defeat, frustration and.... hehe...sheer terror on the faces of my creators at my various antics. One day, a faulty string of data made me repeat every fourth word spoken to me five times in a row. On another, I couldn't speak at all, after an unforeseen power outage wiped the data from my verbal processors and the backup's from the laboratory's mainframe. These things and many more were constantly shutting down or falling apart altogether. Having watched a human child mature, I suppose I can now say I was like a sickly baby. The only difference being that an infant is typically comforted by its caregivers when it cries and screams in its distemper. Whenever my 'caregivers' unscrewed my arm, or tore my chest apart to repair some faulty hydraulics, however, they took my own crying and screaming as proof that (thank god!) at least my emotional programs were working... and so realistically, too! One might even believe I was a real little boy, if I could only feel real pain. And it didn't hurt one day when one of my frustrated scientists drove a lit cigarette into my left eye because "the damn thing refused to work", now did it?  
  
I may have been a machine, Otaru-kun, but I was never stupid. Even before I was given a sense of self-awareness, I knew (instinctively, perhaps?) that I was different, and subordinate to, these strange men in their white coats. And that if I ever tried to act like their equal, a damaged eye that took a week to repair would be the least of my concerns.  
  
After six years of programming, development and remodeling, I was finally ready. I was dressed in some of Hanagata Mitsurugi's clothes (a large lavender bow, a pair of pale tights and a white shirt with ruffles down the front) and lead for the first time into the sunlight. I remember holding Kamatarou's hand uncertainly as he gave me my first orders. In the outside world, I was to call him "Daddy", a word which would tell everyone that I was a real little boy, not the marionette I again became in the laboratory's artificial light. I would now live in Kamatarou's huge house like a real little boy. And then, I would be sent to a school with many little boys. Here, I would eat, sleep and live with a boy whose name has haunted me from its first mention.  
  
Mamiya Otaru. 


	2. Chapter 2

Severing the Tangled Wires  
A Saber Marionette Fan Fic  
by  
Lady Aoi  
  
Summary: Hanagata explains the reason behind his amazing vitality, knowing full well that nobody will hear. (It's basically a monologue)  
Rating: PG-13 for dark themes, child abuse, shounen-ai.  
Spoiler Warnings: Pretty far into the J series.  
Disclaimer: Hanagata isn't mine. And not in that sense, either.  
Lady Aoi's Notes: This fic is a bit of a tangent off a longer series I'm writing. theCarlinist gave me the idea during an AIM session a few months ago. Basically, he misunderstood something about the longer series and that misunderstanding generated a new plot bunny.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The afternoon is wearing on, Otaru-kun, and still you and your marionettes are ignoring me. Despite my self-learned fondness for food (I was programmed only to eat, not to relish my food as I so do), I am hesitant to open this picnic basket. If I did, I know Cherry would surely pounce on me like some fierce tiger. And as hungry as I am becoming, I do not enjoy the thought of being torn to shreds by your precious she-devil.  
  
Or of hearing you scold and chide me for my greediness.  
  
Do you know the real reason why I hate your marionettes so much, Otaru-kun? It is because they remind me of the only mortality I could ever have: exposure. So far I have been lucky. They have never broken anything in me that I have not been programmed by circuitry and pragmatism to repair myself. And both you an they have never cared enough for me to truly question why I recover so quickly from abuse that would fatally injure Kamatarou himself.  
  
If someday Bloodberry were to tear me open and expose my circuits and wires, what would you do? Sometimes I drive my circuits to the brink of exhaustion at the thought of you scowling disapprovingly at my mangled limbs. At the cruel edge in your voice as you chide her for breaking your toy. And then the feeling of the damp and rust of the nearest junk pile as I lay there in a perpetual state of death.  
  
How lucky you humans are to die. It happens so relatively quickly. A few seconds in battle, a few hours of panting for breath as your heart squeezes out... what's a few years, even? Even then you are surrounded by your loved ones. When you die, Otaru-kun, Lime and the others will hold your hands and cry for you. But I won't be there.  
  
I will be dying a slow, lonely and painful death because you will have forgotten me long before that day.  
  
You are already forgetting me now. I see it in your eyes. In the way you look at Lime when you think the others aren't watching. Do you know the real reason Cherry and Bloodberry fight so much, Otaru-kun? Despite your rather half-assed egalitarianism, they know, as well as I do, that they are only second best. They hate themselves for never being looked at with the same adoration you reserve for her simple-minded antics.  
  
Once I thought I loved you enough to kill anyone who attempted to take you from me. Now I know better. If I raised a fist to defend myself from these harridans, you would defend them by striking out at me. And I would much rather be beaten by superior machines than suffer beneath your fists, Otaru-kun. To have you hit me would...   
  
I need to continue with my story.   
  
"Do you see that boy, Mitsurugi?" Kamatarou asked.  
  
"Yes, Daddy." There was no need to ask him which boy he meant. We were the only people in the room.  
  
"That's the prince, Mitsurugi," Kamatarou's breath was hot against my hear and his hand heavy upon my shoulder. "That is Mamiya Otaru-sama. And from this day forth, you will remain at his side and serve him. You belong to him, Mitsurugi."  
  
"Yes, Daddy." Did I ever say anything else to that narcissistic animal?   
  
"Good." the heavy hands pushed me forward with surprising gentleness. "Go to him now, Mitsurugi."  
  
For your part, you were so engrossed in the picture that you and the Shogun's bodyguard who had brought you to the museum never heard me until I was almost on top of you. Your dear little eyes were so wide as you looked me over, as if you couldn't imagine another human being entering this sacred space! You seemed intrigued by my offer to play with you, and had such fun chasing me around the museum's garden you never thought about the reasons behind your new friend's returning to school with you. For that matter, you never even asked why he was suddenly sharing your room, the desk next to you in class, or your table at lunch time, either.  
  
Otaru-kun, I'm afraid you have never been very smart. And, to be fair, neither have I. If I were, I would have known something had gone wrong with my program and immediately informed Kamatarou of the situation. After all, I was supposed to protect you, not love you.   
  
Did I love you, even then? That is a difficult question. For me, love was nothing but a vocabulary word, a command that, when uttered, would trigger one of several facial expressions and responses, depending on the speaker's tone of voice and the situation. And being made incapable of emotions (or at least believed to be) I was never taught how to connect these vocabulary words to concrete feelings. And yet, somewhere within my deepest core, I believe I must have known. The trembling surge that possessed my body upon our first meeting was simply too beautiful, too transcendent to go unnamed even by a machine.  
  
But to you I was never a machine. Unlike the contemptuous scientists and my obsessive, distant 'father', you were completely taken in by the illusion. As far as you were concerned I was just another little boy, albeit an annoying one. Hah. If I had two mon for every annoyed look you shot me during our childhood and adolescence I might be able to buy myself a soul! And yet, for all my begging and following, you never ceased to terrify me. Whether it was leaping from the top of the school to see if you could fly (thank god your kenpo mentor caught you in time!) or scaling piles of stinking garbage in the Japoness dump, you always seemed to be one step ahead of all my protective measures. My failure to keep you from experiencing childhood's regular slings and arrows drew fierce criticism from your distant father and fierce efforts on my 'team's' part to determine what was wrong with me. Let me elaborate. Under normal conditions, I was scheduled to visit the lab of my birth on a monthly basis for maintenance and program upgrades. After all, my body and mind had to grow and change in order to keep up the illusion of my humanity! But due to the beatings I received during our boyish misadventures and to my inability to keep you from having them, I was torn open two, three, even four times a week for these 'repairs'.  
  
And yet, for all their tinkering, the scientists never discovered my secret. Kamatarou, on the other hand, was a wise man and began to notice that his little marionette was developing a personality. It was about this time that he began to obsess over me. He began buying me things. Toys, clothing and, as I grew older, motor palanquins. And whereas he had treated me upon my creation with the mild curiosity one might display upon receiving a useful but unwanted birthday gift, he now began to regard me, I think, as his little boy reincarnated. His second chance. On the many occasions you were asked to spend a night at a friend's house, or work a simple job after school, he would take me to his mansion for training in the ways of the family business. And when it became apparent that factories and finances were the least of my young concerns, he began resenting me. And then, he began beating me. Do you remember the week I was absent from school? I spent that week in the laboratory being fitted with a more durable skeleton and tougher cables after my dear Daddy had decided to throw me out a window for refusing to study currency conversion rates. The Shogun was displeased with this treatment of his son's bodyguard, and Kamatarou was reprimanded. And yet, he continued to berate and hit me, albeit never hard enough to snap my head from my body again. Such a repeat would have been a very ugly thing for him to live down.  
  
And yet, you never questioned my absences and always welcomed me back. But as we grew older, your welcomes became cooler and cooler. By now, you were an attractive and fascinating young man of fourteen, and nearly everyone at school loved you. I, on the other hand, was perceived as nothing more than a clingy nobody fighting against hundreds of other boys for a place in your sunlight. I suspect you began thinking of me this way, too, because eventually you did nothing to stop the bigger boys from hurting me or calling me names. And you even petitioned to be moved to another dormitory so you could be with your newfound friends. Oh, you have no idea how I wept that night. Being separated from you by abuse or circumstance was one thing, but to be cast aside like an unfit toy...  
  
I should not have been surprised when your absentee father fully supported your decision to leave me. He was greatly disappointed in his investment inability to adequately serve and protect, and was happy enough to hand me over to my 'father'. And for his part, my 'father' was happy to have me all to himself.   
  
The next part is... difficult, Otaru-kun....  
  
I think I'm going to need a moment. 


End file.
